Vencer — “to defeat” in Spanish — comes from the Latin vincere, of course from the classic triple-V line of Caesar’s. But from this root, we get a bunch of interesting words, including:

• Vincent — yes, the name is literally, The Conquerer!
• Victory — the victor does win over the enemy!
• Convince — With the con- prefix… the victor of an argument just convinces the other!
• Vanquish — The victor vanquishes the opponent!
• Invincible — the victor is someone who is not (in!) vincible!
• Evict — when you’re evicted from your apartment, that is a form of defeat

We can see the v-n-c root in most of these, or slight variations, like v-n-q.

The Spanish rubio (meaning “blonde,” as in the hair color) comes from the Latin rubeus, meaning “red”.

How did “red” come to mean “blonde”? In a world where everyone has very dark black hair… it’s easy to see how everyone could conflate blonde hair and red hair. The Romans didn’t know the Irish!

From the same Latin root, we get various English words including Ruby, the stone, and guess what color it is? We also get Rubric, which was originally religious directions that were written in… guess what color ink?

Esmero, a Spanish word meaning “done with care” comes from the Latin prefix ex– combined with the Latin merus which meant, “unmixed; pure” (such as, pure wine — not diluted by water). Anything done with care will be pure, right?

From that same Latin root merus, we also get the English… mere. The interesting part is that, over the centuries, mere has gone on to almost take on the opposite of its original meaning: the original, more Latinate sense, was similar to “pure” and its Spanish derivative, done with care. But over time, in English at least, its become degraded and degraded to the point in which today, it means to do “just barely enough.” This is an example of a broader pattern: words tend to degrade over time.

We see the m-r root clearly in both languages.

Pelo (Spanish for “hair”) is a surprisingly militaristic word. Pelo comes from the Latin for the same, pilus–a hairy word, indeed.

But pelo, in the ancient language became a common word to mean a tiny amount, like we might say a “spec” in modern English. Apparently, the Romans lost their hair early!

So, as a euphemism for “a tiny amount”, it became the standard word in Latin for… a small group of soldiers: a pilum.

Then, over the centuries, the word for a group of soldiers came to mean the word for… fighting. Surprise, surprise. Therefore, that’s why the Spanish for “to fight” is… pelear.

Thus pelo (“hair”) and pelear (“to fight”) are almost the same word, in Spanish! Who would’ve thunk!

The Spanish demora means “delay” and comes from the Latin prefix de– with mora (“delay; hinderance.”)

From the same Latin root, we get two related English words: moratorium (a moratorium, after all, is just an indefinite delay!) and demure (someone who is demure or shy just delays in showing their responses!).

The m-r root is visible clearly in all of these words.

The Spanish disfrazar (“to dress up”, as in a costume) comes from the Latin fricare meaning “to rub; to rub off.”

From this same Latin root, we get the English friction — and what is friction if not, rubbing against something to wear it down?

We also get the English traffic (the tra– comes from a shortened version of the trans– “across” prefix). And what is traffic if not, friction across the road?

The fr-z of disfrazar maps to the fr-ct of friction and just the ff of traffic.

But the question is: how did the word for “rubbing” turn into the word for “dressing up in a costume”? That part is interesting: the Latin fricare (“to rub off”) turned into the Late Latin frictiare, meaning, “walking and leaving footprints (just like animals do).” Leaving tracks as you walk gave away who you are and where you’re going, letting you be followed. But with the de– prefix (meaning “not”) which negates that, disfrazar (literally, de– “not” and frictiare “leaving a trail behind you as you walk”) together meant not being able to be tracked or followed. Hence, a costume.

The English word quarantine is related to the Spanish word cuatro (“four”). How so? A quarantine was historically… forty days. Think about Jesus’ forty days in the desert, or the Jews’ 40 years wandering. Ahhhhh!

Limpio (Spanish for “clean”) comes from the Latin limpid (“clear”). The transition is easy to see: cleaning something is, broadly, making it look clear again, right?

From that same Latin root, we also get the English lymph — as in the lymph nodes we studied in high school biology. What is a lymph? The clear liquid circulating in the body. Oh, there it is again: it’s clear.

The l-m-p root is clear in all!

Sueldo (Spanish for “salary”) comes from the Latin solidus for “gold coins” — that which you pay the salary in.

From the same root solidus we also get… soldier. Yes, a soldier is defined by the money he makes: a soldier is just someone who is in an arm for the pay.

The s-l-d root is clearly visible in both!

The Spanish plegar, meaning “to fold” comes from the Latin root plicare, meaning the same.

From plicare, we also get the English applicant. The connection makes sense if we think about both words in the sense of “attach”: when you apply, you want to attach yourself to an organization; and think of fold in the same metaphorical sense, “to bring into the fold.”

We can see the mapping clearly in the p-l-g of plegar and the p-l-c of applicant. The -c- was lost when it was shortened to just apply over time.

From the same root we also get the English ply, as in plywood – but that is a lot less common!